A Soldier Woman
by FirenzeFuomo
Summary: A couple interconnected drabbles that range from Riza's perceptions of herself, to Roy's perceptions of her, and finally migrating into a long mission where Riza falls ill. Done just as a writing exercise, not supposed to be narrative. Half character study, half sick fic. COMPLETE
1. A Soldier Woman

**I've never written for FMA before, and frankly, I don't even know if the fandom is still alive? My heart always burns for Riza and Roy, and I had a random whim to just write something. It's not really a narrative, it's a few pieces just kind of stitched together - though they are related. I don't intend on writing any other chapters, so it's kind of a one-shot. If anyone reads this, let me know what you think! I wish I'd written for this series back when it was still hot on the market, but frankly it's always on my mind, so, here we are! Enjoy my friends.**

She was a woman.

She was a soldier.

She was efficient, effective, and conducive.

These were simply facts, but not facts she enjoyed dissecting. The simpler she kept her state of mind, the simpler her job and her life could be. To stray too far into a subject that lingered in her mind could prove not only inefficient for her, but many times painful.

Pain was a state of the physical world and universe, and she accepted this, but it did not mean she would entertain its presence nor pursue an understanding of it.

And she knew, with a small weight in her chest, she knew, that she had had an unhealthy relationship with pain of the mind since she was a child. It wasn't an aggressive relationship, and it wasn't a violent one. It was disregarding. It was one which was built with walls. Thick walls that no one was allowed to penetrate, including herself, and as often as possible, she did not grant that kind of pain the time of day. She simply ignored it.

Knowing she was a soldier, thinking about it, thinking about what earned her that title, would indeed invite twirlers of pain into her mind. Yes, she'd endured physical pain because of that title, but that was not something that bothered her. Not in the long-term way that it did otherwise. She did not like to think about it. She felt guilt at not wishing to think about it, but she granted her this selfish act and unless prompted to, she did not.

Knowing one was efficient, effective, and conducive, one would think, would be rewarding. Something to find pride in. For her, in many ways, it did not. She had been requested by many people in the past to do things that buried down, she did not want to do. In fact, not even always buried, but rather openly, she did want to do. But she was efficient. She was effective. She was made to make things happen. Ending lives. Immortalizing alchemic research. She made things happen.

Woman. A state of being, an identification, a fact. It was also used as an adjective, as a description. Hearing that someone was a woman, when used to describe personality, puts an image in one's mind; they are attractive, bold, desired. They are unique and strong, but also delicate and worth fighting for. Worth wanting.

She preferred to only recognize herself as being female: a woman.

—

"What kind of books do you like reading, Lieutenant?"

She looked up with a subtle look of amusement, but he was watching his pen twirl. It was only her and the colonel tonight, staying late to fill out several incident and event reports following the successful mission of last week. He had his bored face tiled into one hand, the pen balancing beneath a fingertip. He watched the pen fall and he looked up at her. Inwardly, she wanted to roll her eyes; he liked to make a habit of procrastinating work he didn't wish to do. It often involved pestering her in one way or another, resulting in her too falling behind on her work.

"Is that pertinent at the moment, Colonel?"

"Your bookshelf is filled with books, and I see you almost daily flipping through one on your lunch. I just realized I never asked," he answered simply. She sat up a little and gave her left shoulder a minuscule shrug.

"I like reading finished reports."

A corner of her mouth tugged up at his laugh and smile. It was a genuine sound. A good one.

"Admirable," he mumbled through his smile, looking down to pick up his pen. She too returned to her page when his pen scratched across the report. She'd just again found the paragraph she'd been reading when his voice once more cut the air.

"But really, I'm curious."

She sighed to herself and brought her ink to the page, scribbling what was needed as she answered him.

"I like a few different types. Some history, some fiction. I've recently gotten into philosophy."

"What kinds of history and fiction?"

"Colonel, please, it's already 11:30." She met his eyes lightly. He put up his hands in surrender.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, my brain is just fried from filling this crap out. We've been at it for hours."

"Well unfortunately, it was due by E.O.D. today, so, we can't really afford to slack off."

"Well, Hawkeye, you're a woman of logic; since it's already late, will it really be _that_ awful if we finish it tomorrow?"

Her eyes flicked back up to his. Ignoring the rest of the sentence, it was true. She was a woman of logic. It was simply a statement of fact. But when he said it, when his voice recognized her as something else besides a subordinate or aide…it stuck out as if it were bolded, as if it were more. It always did. She knew he saw her as more than a subordinate, she did know that. It was the same reversed. It was an unspoken truth in their industrial bond. There wasn't an identifying and clear-cut word for how they interacted nor how their relationship existed, but it was simply _more_. But still, after all this time, his deep voice never ceased to extract those kinds of words.

Without hesitation, she denied his plea.

"We have to do this tonight. We shouldn't have been late to begin with."

"Ease up, Hawkeye, this mission was a hole-in-one…honestly, the high brass should be kissing our asses for the next month at least."

"Somehow I don't see that happening."

"So you're saying it would happen in, maybe, fiction?" he asked playfully. She knew he was teasing her. Her fingers feathered over her forehead.

"You understand I have a dog at home, right, sir?"

"And my boredom isn't more important than your living animal?"

"Not at all, sir."

He ran a hand through his messy hair and growled. She shook her head and continued writing. Feeding his boredom would only cause his momentum to completely derail, and then there would be no hope of finishing their work at all.

It was largely silent then until the last words were penned out. A few times, he had to ask her for clarification of facts about the mission. She would answer. Finally, after some indistinct amount of time, he slapped his pen down and threw up his hands ceremoniously.

"Yes! Done!"

She smiled and stood to gather her coat.

"Was that truly so horrific, Colonel?"

"Uh, yes, actually, it kind of was." He noticed her standing. "Have you finished too?"

"I finished 20 minutes ago." She said calmly while she walked to the door, opening it as an invitation for them to leave. He stood and put his hands on his hips, his eyes glinting with a smile.

"Why didn't you leave?"

"You know very well why. You'd never have finished."

"You are both appreciated and hated."

"I know, sir—don't forget the papers, Colonel," she pointed. He quickly turned on his heel and scooped up the pile, then twirled back to face her with a smirk. She fought to keep her own smile down. The more tired the man felt, the more goofy he tended to be. He walked past her and turned down the hall. She rolled her eyes, picked his coat off the rack, and switched off the light.

Their military boot heels clicked down the half-lit hall until they reached the administrative office. She took the papers from him, combined them with her own, and slipped them into a folder and under the door.

"Maybe we should have included a check to apologize for the tardiness," joked Mustang as they climbed down the stairs.

"Now you're feeling guilty about it?"

"I'm realizing that it probably doesn't look great."

"Well you're not touching my checkbook, sir."

"I know where Havoc keeps his," he smiled down at her. She almost saw a wink. They said goodnight to the guard and started down the building's steps. The night air was fresh, crisp. It felt wonderful on her skin.

"Well at least it was done before the actual end of the day," he offered.

"Actually, it's after 1am. So that's not an accurate statement."

"It's already after 1?" he asked incredulously, his eyes wide. She let a small laugh release at the flabbergasted look on his face. Perhaps she was feeling more tired too — she didn't normally feel so…well, _light_. They'd reached the sidewalk and continued towards the left.

"Yes, sir, it is."

"Let me drive you home."

"It's not necessary, Colonel."

"Hawkeye, let me drive you home."

"I walk to work daily, sir. And frankly, I'm the one with a gun. I think I'll be fine."

He stopped walking and had her stop too, his hands grasping her shoulders to face him. She tensed at the action. His face was no longer goofy, but serious, and soft. His palms felt strong at each side of her shoulders.

"Please…let me drive you."

She blinked up at him and nodded.

"Alright, sir."

Being in the colonel's car was a familiar thing. Many missions, they'd driven together. Traveling to other parts of Central or even out of town, whether it was to investigate something or pick something up, they'd drive together. It was comfortable. In fact, Hawkeye had been with him when he first purchased the thing. He had been very excited.

That was sometime after the Ishval war, and it was the first time she'd seen him light up since they'd returned. It had made her smile too, and she realized she also hadn't felt like smiling until then as well.

Ishval…she blinked a few times and looked out the window of the car they'd just entered. She focused on the street lamps and the brick buildings they began to pass. She allowed the subject to float away from her.

"I'm sorry for making us stay so late."

She turned and shook her head.

"I was behind as well."

"I appreciate the try, Lieutenant, but it was definitely because of my inane ability to look at paperwork like it's wet paint that kept us."

"It exercises my consciousness flexibility. If every day was 9-5, I'd start to feel like a suburbia secretary."

"Well, you're anything but."

It was there again, his words thick. A few strings in her chest tightened. It was always very subtle, the impact it had on her. The impact he had on her. It never showed on her face nor with her posture, and it hardly made itself apparent to even herself. But it was there.

"Oh, I know." She looked over at him. "You'd be dead by now if I was."

He flashed her a smile, likely pleased at her reciprocation of the playfulness.

"How's Hayate?" he asked. "You watch my back, and he watches yours. I need to know you're well looked out for."

"He's doing his job as always, sir. A few nights ago, he barked at a homeless man for three minutes straight for no reason at all. So, I think I'm well guarded from penniless and showerless people."

"Good, good," the colonel laughed. They were silent for a few moments. "Are you seeing anyone, Lieutenant?" he asked casually.

She raised her eyebrows. Now that did surprise her. Not necessarily the context, just the timing. Again, their bond was unique. It was durable and unbreakable. There was something unspoken between them, and unspoken in themselves. Something bubbling just beneath the surface, never allowed to break. Never granted the luxury to break. It was kept beneath the water, suffocating until it adapted to breath and survive and float beneath a layer of unspoken truth that they each understood.

But, it was another thing she chose not to reflect too much on.

He asked her this question from time to time, among other questions that related to regular life chit chat. She thought he probably wanted to be up to date with her life, curious about what she's up to. They'd known each other for some time; they'd known each other's deepest, deepest secrets. It was natural to be curious. But every time he asked her that question, the answer was always the same. It almost amused her that the question continued to be asked.

"No, sir, I'm not," she said with another look out the window. She heard his coat shift as he turned and she felt his eyes on her.

"Why is that funny to you?" he asked curiously with a chuckle. She faced him. She hadn't realized she'd answered the way she did with an airy laugh.

"I guess I just give you the same answer every time you ask."

"Why is that?"

"What?"

"Why is it the same answer?"

"Well, because I'm telling the truth?"

"No," he chuckled again. "I mean why do you never see anyone? Don't you go out?"

She felt a small wave of heat trickle into her cheeks. The conversation that followed these kinds of questions didn't regularly go any further than the short answer. Truthfully, it was something she indeed preferred not to talk about.

"I…" She felt the need to almost defend herself. "I go out."

"When was the last time you went out?"

Suddenly she wished they were closer to her apartment.

"The office had a holiday party—"

"I know, I was there. That doesn't count."

"Truthfully, sir, I just prefer to work."

"But men must ask you out."

She felt the blush in her cheeks deepen and she was grateful for the darkness of the late hour. She straightened herself and took a careful inhale.

"Uh…not—not," she cursed herself for the stutter. She sighed quietly to gather herself. "I'm not asked out often, sir."

"No need to be modest, Lieutenant, I'm only curious." The calmness and smile in his voice, at least, decreased her anxiety about the subject. She sighed again and brushed her bangs out from her eyes, suddenly feeling the need to do something with her hands.

"I'm being honest, Colonel. I'm sure it has to do with my…demeanor. I'm rather fine with it."

He regarded her differently then, his smile replaced by a small frown and a flick of the eyes.

"What do you mean by that?"

She suddenly regretted divulging too much honesty. This man had seen her without clothes, in her most ravished and torn and beaten state; he had carried her half conscious body to a cold tub, they'd both been crying, they both were attempting to comfort the other, they'd both felt the burn that was placed on her back, and it was this conversation that was proving to be immensely difficult for her to deal with.

"I wasn't trying to mean anything."

"Your demeanor is…" She saw him scratch his head. "Well, I'm sure many men find it alluring."

She bit her lip and chose not to say anything. _If it's so alluring_ , she thought, _then they would ask me out_. She wouldn't wish to go out, of course; she wasn't one for dating. However, the knowledge that her personality and appearance invited no ask remained true. She subconsciously found a loose string from her pocket and twisted it between her fingers.

"So you don't even want to date anyone?"

She wanted him to drop it.

"Not particularly, sir."

"Any reason why?"

She released an audible sigh.

"I'm sorry," he started. "I'm not trying to pry."

"No, sir, no—" she clarified with another release of breath. "It's not—you're not prying. I'm just not used to discussing it."

"I'm not used to astounding women both not enjoying nor being asked to date."

"I appreciate that, sir."

"Hawkeye, you are an astounding woman. I hope you understand that."

"Thank you."

"I kind of need you to tell me you understand it."

They'd come to a stop in front of her building. His dark irises held her gaze. He was being soft, his voice was low and deep. Her chest rose and fell in the silence.

"I…uh, I tend not to be reflective on myself, sir." She swallowed. She wanted to reach for the door handle. The comfort of the car suddenly became small, and the air was tight. His gaze had her frozen.

"That sounds like you don't understand it."

"I'm unsure of what you want me to say," she said quietly, honestly. He moved then, like he wanted to touch her or shift towards her, but he stopped himself.

"I...just…" She saw the muscles in his jaw clench and he placed both his hands on the steering wheel, looking forward out the window. "You're a good lieutenant, Lieutenant."

After a moment, she nodded and said goodnight. The door clicked shut. She turned and walked up the steps to her apartment and heard the car's engine idle for a few seconds before rumbling away down the road.

It was the fourth day in a row. The nearby territory that had recently been ingested by Amestris, called Riegia, had been ingested with quite a lot of instability. Nothing concrete had happened yet, but there were rumors and tremors of a riot. Regardless of rank, position, or assignment, all military personnel were required to take 10 day shifts of the area and attempt to keep the peace.

Today was Mustang's team's fourth day. Naturally they were in addition to several other units, but their unit was in the most volatile sector. It was nothing more than a few brawls, but the fact was that the brawls were a constant threat and the area required vigilant supervision. Many times, groups had to be talked down or broken up. Havoc had received a fist in the face the first day, and Fuery physically grabbed the second. The issue lied between the natives, half wishing concession and half demanding secession. The military's presence, though necessary, did not ease tensions.

The days were incredibly long. At most, their shifts were supposed to end after 12 hours. This was not so. The previous two days ended at 16 hours, and today Hawkeye knew would be no different.

She was a woman of intent, and she intended to continue standing beside Colonel Mustang for every hour they were on duty. He bore the stripes of a high ranking officer, and he was in command of their unit for the remainder of the week. It was unlikely he would be targeted by the rebels, but it was still a possibility. She would not allow it to happen.

This was a sturdy reason on why she so much more resented the mild illness that had descended upon her. She wasn't surprised; sleep had been scarce, exhaustion had been high. She found she did not have much of an appetite and watched her team quickly eat every meal while she forced herself to pick at fruit or potatoes. Her immune system was low. By the second day, her throat began to itch terribly. Today, a consistent cough became her partner and her head tangoed with migraine. Last night, as she attempted to drift to sleep, she told herself she would eat a stable meal in the morning to build her immunity. Now that it was morning, and she sat for chow, she found herself to be a liar.

In line a few minutes earlier, she poured her coffee greedily. A few steps later, she grimaced at the eggs squished together and the bowl of grits sloshing beside it. There wasn't even any fruit today. She eyed the line of food and flipped a piece of toast onto a napkin and went to sit beside her blonde comrade.

"I don't know how the fuck you can look at that sad piece of bread and find it satisfying," Havoc said between bites. "I'm fucking ravished."

"I can say the same about those eggs." She nodded towards his plate. He shrugged.

"They taste like eggs and that's more than I was expecting."

"Well, this coffee tastes better than I was expecting. It's all I need right now. I'll have something more substantial at lunch."

The colonel's fork bounced as he sat down, followed by the 2nd lieutenant whose uniform was completely untucked and unbuttoned. Hawkeye looked at Breda disapprovingly.

"Lt. Breda, you're representing your unit. You can't show up for duty like that."

"Technically, Hawkeye, calltime is at 0600 and it's currently 0545, so, I think it's fine," he answered casually. She continued staring at him until he finally sighed and straightened his back to tuck in his shirt. Satisfied, she took another sip of her coffee.

"Up early, Hawkeye?" asked Mustang as he buttered his bagel. Mildly confused, she looked up at him. He'd sat to her right.

"No, sir, I just arrived with Havoc a few minutes ago."

Mustang glanced down in front of her than looked away and took a bite of his bagel. He pointed his plastic knife to the man sitting in front of him.

"Breda, you really are letting yourself go."

They chatted for awhile, the conversation drifting into the job. They discussed the past few days, the talk mostly including complaints of the work load and the exhaustive toll it took on their bodies. It was true; the days were physically exhausting. They all hoped they'd be allowed to return to central in five days time as they were promised, instead of their stay being extended.

"If we do our jobs and keep things under control, there'll be no reason for us to stay out here," Havoc reasoned. "So let's just make everyone happy, huh?"

"Havoc, your left cheek has a bruise the size of a golf ball," Fuery reminded him as he took a seat with Falman. Havoc tsked.

"Dude, I am not staying out here any longer than my contract says. They can punch me in the face all they want, but when next Tuesday rolls around, I am _out_ of here."

Hawkeye glanced up at the clock. It was almost time for them to get to their posts. She savored the last few minutes in the chow hall, relishing in the feeling of sitting and remaining idle. Like everyone else, the effect of the grueling days was sitting in her bones. Sitting felt like it never had before.

Begrudgingly, they stood, emptied their trays and coffee, and walked to their posts. Havoc and Fuery were assigned together in the beta quadrant, Breda and Falman in charlie, and Mustang and Hawkeye in delta. Delta was the furthest walk, and the shuttle had been busy transporting victims of a train accident to a nearby hospital. The long walk was not greeted openly.

"I'm a colonel, for Christ's sake," griped Mustang. "Can't they have a shuttle for the damn Colonel?"

"I'm sure the shuttle is where it needs to be at the moment, sir," she reminded him. He sighed dramatically.

"Yes, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm unhappy about it."

The gravel crunched beneath their feet. The sun was still unrisen, so the land was bathed in a crisp early blue. The air was fresh and not yet sweltering as it surely would be later in the day. Hawkeye took a deep inhale of it, feeling the coolness of the air fill her lungs. It felt good; her chest was somewhat constricted due to her cough. As her lungs opened with the fill of the morning, her chest hitched and she lifted her hands to cover the small fit of coughs that followed. She cleared her throat and swept the bangs out from her face.

"You've been coughing often today."

She didn't look at him. She knew he wasn't looking at her.

"Yes, I think I've invited some kind of cold. It's pretty mild."

"It sounds a little stubborn."

"All coughs are stubborn, they're not like a sneeze, they don't just go away after a one time deal."

"Logical as always, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, sir."

He did look down at her then, with a smile.

"You didn't say much at breakfast," he commented. She raised her eyebrows slightly up at him.

"Should I have?"

"I'm just noting."

Somewhat unaware of his intention, she just pursed her lips in thought and looked away to continue walking. His eyes lingered on her for a moment.

"Central never seemed so appealing," he joked dryly. She smiled and released a puff of air from her nostrils.

"You may actually be glad to fill out the paperwork on this week once we get back."

"I will fill out paperwork on Riegia for the rest of my life rather than come back here." He looked around him. "It's not even that it's difficult, it's just kind of intense."

"Well, that is why we're here."

She coughed again and felt the sting of it in her throat. Inwardly, she grimaced at the implication that it had become worse. It was no longer a irritated cough, but now an official illness. She could taste the virus in her mouth. She wished it were possible to put a bullet in a virus' back.

Finally, they reached their quadrant. It was still quiet, the morning not yet waking the restless residents that resided there. They patrolled the area, crossing paths with other patrolling pairs once in awhile and nodding their greeting to them in passing. Hawkeye felt her stomach shift strangely, sending her messages of confusion. Was it churning, hungry, or both? She wasn't sure. She ignored it.

The sun was up and people milled about with no issue. A few asked them questions. A private with sweat rolling down his face appeared out of nowhere and offered them a few water bottles before running away to find another pair of soldiers to water. Knowing it was her only medication, Hawkeye ensured she took a hearty sip before pocketing the precious bottle.

There was a call about a crowd gathering on one of the busier cross streets, and Mustang and Hawkeye quickly strode over to the area to find the call had been correct. They'd heard shouts before even coming upon the scene.

Two men were yelling, screaming, at each other and there were scores of people behind them shouting. It was obvious that it was the rebels against the conceders, fighting over some argument that had likely gotten out of hand. Mustang sent a loud snap into the air, the fireball exploding loudly above them. For a moment, everyone quieted and looked up to see what had caused it. Mustang strolled up with a look of frustration plastered on his face.

"What's the problem here, guys?" he demanded with authority. Quickly, the man on the right, with a ripped white t-shirt, threw his arms into the air.

"We don't need your goddam help, dog!" he spat. "Get the fuck outta here and let us handle this!"

"They're here to protect your dumbass, you slobbering moronic loon!" yelled the other man. "It's not that big of a deal!"

"You always were an authoritative ass-licker, Jonny, so I guess now's your time to really shine, you prick!" the white t-shirt slapped back. His veins were popping angrily in his neck.

"Listen, sir," Mustang snapped. "We _are_ here to make sure everyone plays nicely, alright? We don't want anyone getting hurt. So why don't you-"

"Oh, bullshit." T-shirt gestured around him. "You just want us to allow your lot to take our land and for us to keep quiet about it. We're not accepting your government, so why don't you order your men to get the fuck out?"

"We took on your region because you were crippled with debt and corruption. You need Amestris."

"What the fuck did you just say?"

"You goddamn heard me," Mustang growled lowly through his teeth. Hawkeye moved closer, her eyes on the white t-shirt. "We want to help your slum-ridden territory. So you need to learn how to accept it."

"We'll never need Amestris, you bastard."

"Then why are you now a part of it?" Mustang dared, taking a step closer. Hawkeye wanted to tell him to pedal back on the poor tact, but knew it would be the opposite of helpful in the situation. She watched T-shirt clench. His nostrils flared.

"One day you'll recognize what a big mistake your country has made," he hummed dangerously. He reciprocated Mustang's step closer.

"Sir, you still haven't realized what a mistake your own has made."

Suddenly T-shirt swung his right arm up from his side with great velocity, guiding it to Mustang's head, but Hawkeye used her forearm to deflect it and thrust her hand into his shoulder with just enough energy to force him a few steps back.

"Please do not engage in hostile physical activity with an officer of this military, sir," she said cooly. T-shirt looked at her like he was just then seeing her presence.

"Miss," he panted, "they've got you tangled up in this mess too. You ought to be living your life, teaching or getting an education or having a family. You shouldn't be here." He said this with a lace of anger, but also with something akin to pity. She narrowed her eyes.

"If I was not here, you would have done something you'd have regretted." She allowed a layer of ice to frost over her words. She felt the need to cough again, but kept it down to disallow any kind of sign of vulnerability. T-shirt studied her, then looked back to Colonel Mustang with hatred in his eyes.

"I won't regret this."

He lunged for him again, but Hawkeye was still quicker. She redirected his punch, but this time wrung his wrist upwards as a warning. He yelped, growled loudly, and brought his heavy boot up to thrust into her ribcage, hard, his fuming rage billowing into the movement. She gasped quietly and released his wrist with a stumble backwards. Immediately Mustang snagged the thready collar of the man's t-shirt and yanked him towards him, his face red with heat. He held him there, inches from his face, for several moments without saying a word. Finally he sent him reeling backwards onto his backside. The man hit the ground with a thump.

Hawkeye straightened herself and forced her wincing face to fall into neutrality as Mustang sent another loud snap into the air above the crowd. They silenced again, having been riled by the commotion.

"We are here to stay!" he bellowed. "That will not change! Amestris ingested this territory for your own good, we are not here to do harm... _is that clear?!_ "

The crowd was quiet. Someone broke away and helped T-shirt to stand clumsily.

"Those of you opposed to this have the right to be opposed, but it will not change the fact. Your continuation of affliction does not only harm you, but the people of this territory and their families as well! You are creating an environment where children cannot play and people cannot speak, and that is _not_ the way a country ought to be! You blame us, yet it is you who thread this unstable cloth! We are not oppressive, we are not totalitarian, and we are not the enemy! Your country was in shambles, and we give you the chance to build yourselves up again. Now is the time to take that chance! So figure it out!"

His chest heaved as he breathed heavily through his nostrils, his eyes combing over the people who finally had nothing to say. He gave his lieutenant one look before beginning forward. She followed after him, leaving the crowd to listen to the echo of their doings.

"Should we have left that scene alone, Colonel?" she suggested as the people disappeared behind them. They passed by a few uninhabited buildings that were littered with graffiti and garbage.

"They need to work out their problems themselves. All we can do is give them the opportunity and let it happen." He ran an amped hand through his hair. His chin turned over his shoulder. "How hard did he get you?"

"I'm fine, Col-" The cough she'd been holding finally released and her chest racked angrily. Something hollow rattled inside her. His look of adrenaline changed and he turned himself around to stop them both in their tracks.

"Hawkeye-"

"It's just the cough, Colonel, I assure you," she interrupted with a voice more raspy than it was before. She coughed again to clear it. "He didn't kick me hard enough for anything more than mild bruising."

"Mild was the adjective you used to describe the cough too," he observed with his brow furrowed as she continued to cough.

She stopped finally, but the exertion of the cough suddenly drew in a bout of faintness, and for a moment she swam in a blur. She felt her eyes gloss over and her feet sway ever so slightly before the spell passed. Clarity was regained, and she looked up at the colonel to frown at the concern in his eyes. He placed his hand on her empty shoulder.

"Colonel, I really am fine."

"Are you dizzy?"

Then her forearms and hands went numb. She would have been alarmed, but her mind was sunk as well. Darkness threatened the corners of her eyes. Her lips parted, perhaps to say something, but she instead took a stumble back.

"Lieutenant…! You need to sit down!"

She tried to tell him otherwise, but she suspected the words had slurred together. She couldn't really tell. She felt him attempt to guide her somewhere else.

"Hawkeye, for once stop being so hard-headed, you need to sit down before this becomes a medical emergency, which we aren't equipped to deal with. _Sit down._ "

Something in that made sense to her, and she loosened herself so he could lead her to a nearby tree and ease her down. Once sitting, her back supported by the trunk, the vertigo dissipated and was replaced with a severe sense of exhaustion. Her eyes seemed to have gained back some clarity in them, for Mustang sighed and released her shoulders.

"Christ, Hawkeye, what was that?"

"I think I just need some water, Colonel…" Her hand lamely patted her side as she searched for the bottle, but he just shook his head and reached over.

"No, you're unwell," he fished the water from her cargo pocket and placed it in her hands, "and you haven't been eating or sleeping properly. I'm calling for a medic."

"No, Colonel, you can't," she placed her hand on his arm as he threatened to stand from his kneeling position. He stopped his attempt when she did.

"The medics are busy with the accident, you can't pull one of them from a bleeding kid to tend to a soldier with a cold."

"Lieutenant, your face is completely white."

"You can't call for a medic," she reasoned. She attempted to regulate her shallow breathing. "You know that."

"What do you suggest then, Hawkeye? I can't just...leave this alone."

"A break...I just need, a break." She lifted the water to her mouth and drank. Mustang glanced around them and brought himself to the ground to sit.

"You need to go back to Central."

"No."

"I'll put in the orders to reassign you there until we get back."

" _No, sir."_

His head shot up and their eyes locked.

"Are you insane?" he asked her.

"I will not go back to headquarters because I'm a little under the weather while the rest of my team breaks their backs doing their jobs to keep this area safe. I will not do that." Her gaze was hard. She knew her skin was likely sunken and she was a somewhat unsightly scene, but still she did not budge. He looked between her eyes, searching for a crack in them that he could appeal to, but there was none. He finally shook his head.

"Hawkeye you looked like you were about to faint. How can you expect me to let you stay?"

"It's as you said, Colonel, I've been irresponsible with meals. I'll eat at lunch, and I'll be better with portions for the remainder of duty."

"God, you're stubborn."

"But you knew that."

He rolled his eyes and surveyed the area again. He continued looking forward, down the street where they'd just come from. His thumb tapped against his knee.

"I've never seen you so - I've just never, you've never…" He sighed shortly. "Seeing you slip like that was just disarming," he finished.

She looked down at the dirt. She felt the weight of her eyelids and wanted nothing more than to show her colonel that she was strong as always, but she also wanted nothing more than to sleep for days. The irony only added to her migraine.

"Let me see your ribcage," he requested with both command and gentleness. She looked up at him, somewhat startled.

"Sir?"

"I don't trust your judgement of your own health, I need to make sure I don't allow you to stand by my side all day with a broken rib."

She gave her head a few shakes before saying, "I assure you-"

"Just, let me see, Hawkeye." He looked at her with an expression that reminded her of many years ago, back when they knew each other before the military. Before Ishval. Before ranks, and danger and duties. There was a mix between familiarity and knowing in his face; of trust without there meaning to be trust.

She pulled her uniform up, the black undershirt sliding out from her belt. She lifted it to reveal her skin beneath. He leaned forward and helped her push up the jacket, his thumb brushing across her ribs.

"How does it feel?" he asked .

"It is sore, but nothing feels broken, sir. I'm being honest."

"It's definitely bruised." He pressed his thumb into the area gently. She felt the pressure, but it didn't cause her to wince. It assured them both. He exhaled and nodded, pulling her uniform back into place. He leaned back to let her tuck in her shirt.

"You should get it checked anyway once we get back to the site."

"I will," she lied. He raised an eyebrow at her, but said nothing.

A few hours later, the remaining time proving uneventful with both violence and illness, they were relieved for chow by a few officers they didn't know. They walked back and arrived halfway through the rest of the team's meal.

"Finally!" laughed Havoc. "I was beginning to think you two'd been KIA."

"That's very funny, Havoc," Hawkeye answered shortly.

"We're in the delta quadrant today," explained Mustang as they sat. Havoc nodded knowingly.

"Anything exciting over there? Fuery and I got told off by a devil woman." He nudged Fuery's shoulder with a laugh, prying a smile out from the smaller sergeant with a joke only they knew.

"Hawkeye's ribs got a taste of a man's boot," Mustang offered as he stabbed his fork into the white pasta on his plate. Havoc gave her a humored look.

"Joining the black and blue club, sis?"

A corner of her mouth tugged upwards. The man found good spirits in any situation he chose to.

"I guess so."

"Nice."

Fuery made a comment on how Havoc shouldn't encourage violent behavior, but Hawkeye wasn't really listening. She glanced down at her plate. Mustang had made it vehemently obvious that he'd been eyeing her tray as she filled it when they shuffled down the chow line, so she had decorated it with a regular looking meal - but that didn't make it seem any more appealing. She knew her body was hungry for fuel, but the pasta coated in cheese with the bean casserole spouse told her how much she actually didn't care about that hunger. Fortunately, regular steamed vegetables had been offered and she'd taken her portion of them.

She listened to Breda chat about he helped a family move boxes to a new apartment while she ate the small pile of vegetables. The hot tea in her mug felt miraculous down her throat.

"I thought I was going to fall asleep standing up," Fuery confided as he rubbed his neck. "I tried so hard to keep attentive, but the streets were so quiet, and I'm feeling so tired."

"Yes," added Falman. "The lack of sleep begins to catch up with the body after a few days. I'm unsure how we're supposed to keep this up for an additional six."

"It sucks," agreed Havoc. He waved his bread around. "But there's literally nothing we can do. Six days is a blink in the eye of time, right? It'll be over before we know it."

They continued talking, but Mustang looked down at Hawkeye's plate. He barely motioned towards it.

"You need to eat that," he said loud enough for only her to hear. Something made Havoc burst out laughing and he slapped Breda on the back. Hawkeye barely acknowledged the order. She took a bite of the pasta and forced it down. The texture and taste of it made her want to vomit. She quickly placed her fork down, redirecting the nauseous feeling into the action of doing so.

"Hawkeye."

"It's pretty disgusting, Colonel."

"I ate it, it's not that bad. Either eat it or let it make you throw up, either way you're gonna end up with consumption or medical attention, so, you can pick."

"Diplomatic as always, sir."

"You've endured far more difficult actions than eating slightly suspicious pasta."

With a small sigh, she picked up the fork again. She managed to empty half her plate by the time return to duty fell upon them. For once grateful for the time, she stood eagerly and dumped her tray. Mustang followed behind her and did the same, giving her a blatantly disapproving look.

"You said yourself that you've been irresponsible." He didn't need to say any more. Their comrades waved goodbye as they parted ways, and Hawkeye returned the wave. Mustang pushed open the building's doors and they walked down the cement path.

"It was plenty, Colonel, you saw how much was on my plate."

"It was a regular amount."

"It was a big amount."

"Pretty regular, actually."

"Colonel."

"Lieutenant."

"I don't particularly need a lecture on food consumption."

"I don't need my lieutenant passing out on me."

"You're being dramatic. I ate a reasonable amount. Can we drop it, sir?"

"Fine."

"Thank you."

The sun set. Once the orange ribbons streaked across the land, the cough in Hawkeye's chest rebelled. She'd reached the point where the cough was an attack; it was hollow and aggressive, ripping out of her chest like a beast. It was painful. It was obnoxious. It was really putting a stopper on her efficiency.

After a few hours, the colonel stopped commenting on it. She'd see him shift when she'd experience a particularly severe cough, but he stayed silent. She couldn't blame him. She was beginning to become concerned for her health as well.

She felt, in her chest, she felt, that this cough was not just a cold. When she coughed, she couldn't simply lift her hand to cover her mouth politely and continue patrolling alongside Mustang. No, when she coughed, she had to stop and sometimes bend slightly to allow it to pass.

She knew she'd looked healthier before.

"Lieutenant, tell me you're alright."

Her fingers were placed against both temples, her eyes shut and her eyebrows knitted together. "Mhmm…" she managed in reply, her voice heavily strained. She didn't feel his hands placed on the side of her shoulders.

"Come on, Hawkeye, come on," he urged of her, his concern growing in his chest. She didn't listen. She probably couldn't even hear him. He put strength into his grip as he tried to lead her to sit against a nearby broken wall, but she resisted.

" _Riza, follow me._ "

"I'm-jusgottamomen…" her words slurred together and her shoulders slumped. He pressed his hands into them and gave her a small shake.

"Riza, what's wrong? Talk to me, _please."_ His voice was beginning to rise in panic. She wasn't responding to him. She squeezed her fingers against her temples suddenly, her face contorting in pain and she suddenly cried out. The noise sliced into Mustang like a whip.

"Riza!"

" _Agh!"_ she cried out again, her chin lifting upwards and her body clenching together. He went to touch her face, desperate for any way to reach her, but the tension in her body suddenly released and he heard a quiet release of breath come from her mouth as her eyes slowly opened. He searched them, his mind reeling with anxiety and confusion.

She tried to whisper something, and he swore he heard his name, but he held tightly onto her shoulders and locked his eyes onto hers.

"What? Riza, what did you say?"

Beneath his fingers, all muscle in her body loosened and he watched her eyes roll into the back of her head and her eyelids closed. Her body began to fall.

" _Riza! Riza!_ " He was shouting. His right arm left it's spot on her shoulder and latched around her back, catching her fall while her head fell backwards over his arm. " _RIZA!"_

"No, no, _shit, shit! Shit!_ " He put his hand on the side of her face, and was horrified to feel the chill on her skin.

She was completely limp in his arms, and he knew she wouldn't wake. He cursed and felt his heart constrict painfully. His blood thumped quickly. He snaked his other arm beneath her knees and stood. She hung off his arms like a lifeless doll, her neck exposed to the sky, and for a moment he imagined her being dead. He let out a quiet, strangled noise of despair.

It had come on so quickly; nighttime had fallen several hours ago, the darkness saturating the land and casting a dark blue on their skins. He'd heard a sharp inhale to his left, saw a flicker of fear cross over her face, and then she pressed her hands to her temples and it only took minutes for her to fall to the hard ground and take Roy Mustang's courage with her.

He carried her like that for miles. He wanted to stop, he wanted to hear her breathing, but he was afraid time was not his companion.

"MEDIC!" He finally shouted when he was near the site. "I NEED A MEDIC!"

He saw a shape run out from the medical tent, but he knew he himself was in the dark. He could see their figure illuminated by the light, but he and the unconscious lieutenant in his arms were still in the shadows.

"I need help!" he yelled into the darkness. The figures turned towards his voice.

"What's wrong?" they yelled back. "What's happened?"

"My lieutenant is unconscious!"

His legs burned beneath him, but he forced them forward. The pressure of the body pressing against his chest gave him an energy he didn't know he possessed. He saw the figures turn to one another, discuss something, and the second one ran into the tent. It felt like ages before he finally stepped into the border of the postlamps.

He almost wished he hadn't. He looked down at her. The life he knew she possessed, the vibrancy that normally radiated off her like a light, was gone. She looked like a ghost. A shell.

For a moment, he was thrown backwards into Ishval. He was running against sand, the grains digging into his socks and his boots. The moon was high and the night was cold. Riza Hawkeye was limp in his arms.

Last time, it had been a bullet. He understood that blood was seeping out from her abdomen and that her skin was pale from the loss of it; she was dying because she'd been shot by a sniper.

Now, he was married to confusion and loss. She was ill, he knew that, but her loss of consciousness startled him and shook him to his core. Why? What's happening to her?

He understood the risk of the bullet. But this...this, he did not know. This, he could not predict.

His legs were numb. Something dormant inside him was controlling his movements. A small trail of blood began to seep down from her nose, and anything lively inside the colonel shattered like an empty vase.

 _Please, do not die. Please, do not die._

 _Riza Hawkeye, you will not, you will not, die._


	2. A Colonel Man

**Okay, now this is the end! I managed to write this on my flight and upload it during my layover. I had, just, a blast writing this. I'm glad I decided to wrap it up. Let me know what you kids think :') Thanks for reading, friends!**

"Are you upset with me?" she asked quietly. Firmly.

" _Get me the surgical kit!"_

" _She needs an IV first, Johanson!"_

Several moments passed.

" _Shit, she's losing a lot of blood…"_

"No," came the soft answer.

" _Colonel Mustang, you need to wait outside and calm down."_

" _Nurse, get him out of here now."_

" _LIEUTENANT! LIEUTENANT!"_

"I'm upset it was you." His voice was a voice of deep, cracked molasses.

" _Her blood pressure was substantially high…"_

" _...a clot formed in the temporal lobe of her brain…"_

" _As you know, we managed to undergo an emergency operation, but her blood was so thin…"_

" _She's become anemic...blood coagulated in her brain in an attempt to regulate the trauma-induced artery here...here…"_

" _...here...on the left side of her ribcage…"_

" _...the blood flow didn't make it past the...well...and, because it did catch up to itself in her brain..."_

" _It's not good, I'm afraid…"_

" _...an infection in her respiratory system has scarred her lungs…"_

" _It was the perfect storm for a deity of illness…"_

His features were soft, but a thin fabric of sadness draped over him as he continued to hold her in his gaze.

" _She'd have a better chance if she wasn't already so sick...may not make it through the night... I'm sorry, Colonel Mustang."_

" _I'm sorry, Colonel Mustang."_

" _I'm sorry, Colonel Mustang. She`s a good soldier..."_

" _She's a good soldier..."_

" _...I'm sorry, Colonel Mustang..."_

" _...She's a good soldier…"_

" _...She's a good soldier..."_

" _...Colonel Mustang…"_

" _...Mustang…"_

" _...Mustang…"_

" _...She's a soldier…"_

" _Colonel Mustang."_

" _She's a soldier."_

" _She's a soldier."_

She's a soldier.

Green vines; encompassing, enriching, strong. The gusto of her twisting reach, the anchor of her unwavering core, and the breathless sight of her existence, captivated him. She captivated him. She had years ago, years and years ago, and always she would. He could not escape, and he truly, at analyzation of it, did not want to. She had no fault in her hold on him.

...Yet...yes, she did. Yes, she did have fault in it. She was completely and utterly magnetizing. The air that orbited her was warm and stern and familiar and strange; her eyes were the only color he knew and in them was the universe.

How could she do this to him?

For days, the universe didn't exist, and it did not expand, and it did not contract. It was colorless. It reeked of sleep. He could never forget the density nor the vividness of the cosmos, yet as terribly as he wished to, he could only recall them in memory. He could not see them in the present, he could not stare into them and think of their wonder. He would have sold his soul to stare into them again.

He hadn't even been there when she opened her eyes; a fact he despised. They all were back at Central, just barely, and were deep in debriefs that never seemed to end. If he stayed with her, at all hours like he wished, his team would have swam, drowned, and suffocated. He couldn't allow it.

But he did receive the call, he leapt into his car, burst through the doors of her room: panting, palms splayed on the sides of the doors as he stepped through into the room, and stopped.

In fact, she looked radiant, sitting there like that with her head turned. She glowed and saturated in a bath of light, streaming through the window, her rays of hair flowing down her shoulders. It was somewhat unkempt and loose. Several flyaways shone in the light, like thin straws of hay that had escaped their netting. She looked as though she did not belong to the natural world.

Her head jerked up at the sound of his entrance, and for a moment both of them were frozen. His palms quietly slid down the doors, and they swished close behind him.

They, for a time, said nothing.

Then, quietly, firmly,

"Are you upset with me?"

"Thank you for driving me home, Colonel."

"It goes without saying."

"I'm fine now, I don't need you to stay…"

"I know that. I just want to make sure you're adjusted. I'll walk you up."

She nodded at him, almost timidly, as they walked through the doors of her building. It was ludicrous to be embarrassed of what happened to her, and somewhere in her brain she knew that, but yet she was anyway. She thrived and existed on strength and foundation. Fragility was not an adjective she embraced.

He walked half a step ahead of her, his face somewhat unreadable, and her eyes slowly ran over him, down to his feet, up to his arms. Her coat was draped over his elbow. Her eyes lingered on that coat before they fell back down to the ground.

It was she who held his coat. It was she who protected him. It was she who held the team together so all their unique and valuable talents could work seamlessly. And now, he carried the coat, he'd saved her _life_ , and her team returned from exhausting Riegia to exhausting Central with hardly a break at all.

She had refused; she had refused to return to Central when he ordered her to. She was negligent and naive, _stupid_ , and was counting the cost of it.

"Will you sit down? Please?"

Her eyes focused on the scratched wood floor she'd been staring at, a return from her deep thoughts, and looked up at him questionably. Her eyes quickly flicked to the right, to the bookcase in the corner, and it was then she realized they were in her apartment. She hadn't even noticed he'd unlocked the door, nor that they walked halfway into the kitchen...was she really now so unaware?

"Sit, Hawkeye…" he repeated. "I'll get the water going. I swear, the hospital rations the tea in their bags. Cheapskates…" he mumbled.

He turned and led himself to the stove. She rubbed the back of her neck and looked to the floor, her hand fleeting over to run over the side of her face. She wanted to tell him to go home, or back to the office; she was fine.

Of course, it would be futile. And she was tired. She chose not to say anything.

Suddenly her eyes were filled with the sight of his feet, stepping into frame of her downcast gaze. She lifted her head to meet his eyeline, but blinked with a head shift back at his surprisingly close proximity. She stopped herself from taking a step back.

His face was so soft, his eyes were so expressive, that she felt as though they were no longer in her apartment but instead in her father's mansion.

She saw the eyes of a 19 year old Mr. Mustang, who hadn't yet enlisted. The eyes of the young man who was learning who his Master really was, but who didn't yet know what war was. She was conflicted at seeing those eyes again, staring at her like that.

"Hey…" She saw him attempt to place some light in his half smile. "Are you alright?"

"Hmm?" She responded distractedly. "Oh...oh, yes, sir, fine. Colonel, I'm fine, really."

"You just seem distracted."

She opened her mouth to respond, but just let it remain open for a few moments. She blinked, closed it, and gave her head a few small shakes. He just always saw through her. She prided herself in her veil of emotion, giving the appearance of unshakeable stoicism, scaring away any man or woman from ever seeing the tenderness beneath - but Roy Mustang read her like a book.

A small, yet genuine smile ghosted across her features at his keenness.

"I guess I am a bit, sir. I'm sorry, I'm just ready to move on with everything."

"Can we sit?" Something glinted in his eye at his repetition, a mirror to her subtle smile. "I would feel better if you would just sit down for a second."

She nodded once and Mustang walked past her to the couch. She took a careful inhale and guided her fingers to her hair, running them through it, letting it rake behind her shoulders. She intended to have it up today - the day she'd be released from the hospital - to have some semblance of normalcy, but she regretted to have woken with a migraine that wouldn't allow it. She watched him turn to look at her, and she started herself forward.

She stepped around his chair to sit in the one cornered beside it, lowering herself slowly onto the cushion. She was careful to not let their perpendicular legs touch, and she let her hands fold into her lap. She didn't meet his eyeline.

"It's not your fault, Lieutenant," he reasoned after she sat. "I see you putting blame on yourself."

"I didn't listen to you," she responded flatly, her eyes staring at the armrest on his chair. It was a square, stitchy pattern of brown and dark green. Several loose threads were beginning to flare out, making the chair appear mildly fuzzy and weathered. "Perhaps if I had, they would have discovered the...the issue, with the artery. This ordeal may have been-"

She stopped short at the sudden feel of his gentle hand beneath her chin, her eyes widening and her breath stopping as her head was softly guided upwards to look at him. She felt the skin on her arms lift with diluted chills. He tilted his head forwards, his eyebrows drawing just barely together.

"No…" he retaliated with emotion. His voice was low and grasped her like a rope. "No, it would not have. They would have put you in the medical tent, discovered the respiratory infection, and put you on a bus that night to go back to Central Hospital. That bus ride is ten hours long. You would have collapsed three to five hours in, you would have fallen into deep unconsciousness, the driver would have attempted to resuscitate you, and you would have died with no one there on that bus except a terrified civilian. No one, including yourself, could have predicted the consequence of that man's kick. And had you gone back to Central like I wanted, I may not have the chance to be touching your skin like I am now."

Her breath caught in her chest. She was too still, too frozen, too stunned, to respond. She felt his thumb stroke the side of her cheek, drifting dangerously near to the corner of her lip, and her heart bit into her body. His hand released her and a streak of cold air replaced its presence.

 _We should not be doing this, sir..._ she wanted to say. _Don't do this, not now, not after all this time…_

But she couldn't say anything. Maybe his touch wasn't meant like that, she reasoned next. Perhaps he truly is just relieved his oldest friend is still alive and well. Perhaps that's all, perhaps that's it. Yet, his eyes, those expressive and deep eyes, lassoed her core like a friend never could.

"Holding you like that…" he dared with a small tremor. "Like you were dead... _again_...made me realize the mistakes I've made."

Her neck flexed slightly as she took a gulp, her chest rising as she breathed, her eyes looking up at him like an animal with a gun pointed towards it, and her stomach began to flip.

"The things I've never said…"

"Don't…" she warned suddenly, her voice just a whisper. "Do not."

"Riza…"

"Colonel…" Her mouth moved silently as she tried to find the words in her anticipated and anxious state. "Colonel, you've said nothing yet. We can stop here. Think of...of what we've done. Of what _you've_ done, and what you still will do. Do not, I swear Colonel, do not, say anything that will jeopardize your future."

"What your father put on your back would have, and still may, jeopardize your future. And still you showed me. Still, you trusted me with your future. Still...it's been you."

His eyes roamed over her face, analyzing her like a painting. His eyes hesitated, then flicked back up to hers, like the page of a book being flipped.

To her, despite her trepidatious state, he still radiated like a star. The energy that poured off him was like gravity, and she was the matter that fell towards it. No matter how hard she struggled, since they were kids, through the Ishval, through change of command, through hardship and corruption and death, up until that moment...she could never break free from his infallible hold. It was physics; forever, she would be bound by him. Regardless of intonation or objectives or _feelings_...she was his. And that, she knew, was a terrible detriment to their position.

His face tilted down and something electric churned down Hawkeye's spine at the rigid hold that connected them. He shook his head doubtlessly.

"Riza it's always been you."

He suddenly lifted himself halfway out of his chair and leaned towards her. In a feeble attempt to listen to her inner voice telling her no, she lifted her hand up to catch his chest, but the fight in her was not stronger than the want in her, and she barely pushed against him as he leaned into her. His chest pressed against her hand, her hand pressed against her stomach, and his lips fell to catch hers, and suddenly nothing was linear and everything was real. The fire in his fingertips and the fire on her back finally felt like it lit the spark inside of her and together they were flame. Heat encompassed them like it was the only element they understood as he pushed into her, their mouths moving and his hand sliding up the side of her body, her own still pressed against his chest and the other levitating lamely in the air.

His fingers moved into her hair, pinning it beneath his palm that held the side of her head. His lips left hers for a brief moment before returning again with more passion, more vigor, more hunger, and she felt the cushion behind her press into her spine as their embrace pushed further back.

For that moment, she forgot about Ishval. She forgot about her father. She forgot about her terrible cough from weeks ago, she forgot about the boot hard kick to her once sore ribs, she forgot about her collapse. She forgot what day it was and forgot what planet they both were on. She forgot about the existence of time and regrets and gravity and weakness and anything that once decorated her dreams.

Everything that pulsed off him was warm: his presence, his grip, his breath, his skin. He pulled her in closer, wrapping an arm behind the low groove of her back and lifting until their bodies touched and they were no longer two people. She felt a shallow wind of light headedness drift into her, and she was unsure if it was her anemia or him that had caused it, but regardless it did not matter.

The only thing she knew, the only thing she felt, was him. Something quiet inside her screamed for her to stop, but the plea may as well have been in another language. He kissed her and she kissed him back, and not even the promise of prosperity could have convinced her to stop.

His body was leaning over hers and when they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested against one another as they each caught their breath and attempted to do the same with their senses.

"God, I cannot believe I waited this long to do that…" he whispered against her. She heard him sigh, as though he wanted to say something more, but he instead he just stroked her cheekbone and grasped the side of her face.

"I can't believe we did do that…" she answered back at him. "If anyone knew…"

The words intonated regret, but the fluttering of her heart and the prickling of her lips had a different story to tell.

"I won't tell if you won't."

She looked up into his eyes as he said it, his iris' hardly more than two inches from hers. She realized, as she looked into his stunning eyes that held a portal to something vibrant and dormant inside of her, that she desperately wanted to kiss him again. To touch him again.

Then something stronger, more powerful, drifted into the front of her mind. Something that spelled out the future, and promises of the past, that drew her features into an expression of confliction. She thought of the people, and the government, she worked for. The people whom she donned a uniform for, and the people she killed for, and what they were doing to her country. She thought of a young man in desperate need of a haircut, his hair as black as a crow, who confided to her his willingness to die to make something better.

She thought of that young man and how his eyes changed a year later, when she wore the same blues he did, the skin on their faces being blasted by sand, and how those eyes had died to try and make something better.

She thought of the life that slowly began to fill them again as time passed, and the work the black crow man had done to push towards his idea of righteousness. She thought of the people who needed him.

She thought of the people who could destroy that...because of something as simple, something as _right_ , and something as wrong, as this.

Her words were soft and unwavering, yet still just barely laced with regret.

"We can't do that again, Roy."

He barely reacted, only a small flare of something crossing his eyes, before he finally nodded once.

"I know," he answered calmly. "But I had to. At least once...I had to."

He leaned away from her, and it felt like a universal force protested in the air between them as he did so. The last inches of her hair fell between the spaces of his fingers as he stood and took a step back. He took in a deep breath as he drank in the image of her, relishing those last few moments beyond the crossed line, before straightening his shoulders and saying,

"I think the water's boiling."

His boots turned and clipped across the wood and into the kitchen, and Riza was left staring at the space he'd just been in. She released a breath she'd been holding and let her muscles relax from their tethered state, allowing the sword to free from its bind and thrust into her heart.

The fire could never be fed. They both knew what ash would be left in it's place, and the burn of it had the potential to wipe out a path they'd spent their lives carving. It was hot and fiery, and she so, so wished she could put her hands to it and catch its warmth, but they'd both be burned in the end. Burned in a way that could never heal.

Regret burrowed inside her. Dammit, why did he feel this way about her? The same way she did him? A flicker of light and knowledge illuminated their shadows since they were young, a largely ignored light that suggested to her they had mutual emotions. She kept that light away in a locked boxed and tried to never think about it, but it didn't stop the light from leaking through the crevices.

Somehow, she did always know that something akin to this would happen eventually. Yet she truly did wish it never would; now, she knew, things would be so much more difficult. They never used to be paranoid about anyone being suspect about their relationship, because nothing had ever happened; but now, that was no longer truth. They'd need to find a balance of distance that for Riza, she didn't wish to adhere to. Even as simply his aide or bodyguard, she enjoyed being close to him. She found solace by his side. The weight of his body was a weight off her shoulders, and being afraid of it would feel like suffocation.

Like everything else, though, they would find a way. Always, they found a way.

She heard a soft clink on the table beside her, and she looked to find a cup of hot tea steaming atop it. Above that cup was him, his arm on the back of her couch and his body bent beside it so his eyeline was level with hers. She kept her face passive, but felt her skin prick at the look of him.

He looked down and turned the cup around a few times with his fingers, not quite nervous but moreso thoughtful. He looked back into her eyes.

"You make me feel life," he said softly. "And I find you...stunning. And incredible. And frankly, your personality is the most alluring thing I've ever encountered. And since this is the last moment of a very brief us, I am compelled to tell you that one day, I will find a way to kiss you in front of everyone with no tassel, and no consequence. And that goal is just as massive as the one we're sacrificing this for. Because Riza Hawkeye, I've never loved anything or anyone like

I love you. And I will never stop loving you. Even when we're pretending, when I act like I don't want to wrap my arms around you or when I have to force my face into neutrality when you give me that damn paperwork...I will love you. Never forgot I said that."

He lifted his hand to give her shoulder the softest squeeze. He took his own seat and lifted his mug to sip at it, crossing his legs and lifting a book to his eyes.

Never, she knew, would she forget what he said. Never would she forget the taste of him. Never would she again doubt that multilayered expression on his face when he looked at her, because now she could read it when before she seemed to not; now she would see him, and know that he saw her too.

Now they were twined in a way that before they were not, and never could something untwist the tie they'd just begun to knot.


End file.
